


think about the girl you love, and hold her tight

by felicities



Category: BLACKPINK (Band)
Genre: F/F, Flashbacks, Roseanne Park is a lesbian, just ten chapters of Rosé being a raging homosexual, post-Blackpink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicities/pseuds/felicities
Summary: While preparing for her move to New York from Seoul, Rosé comes across a dusty old box tucked behind old, outgrown sweaters. Inside, she finds four letters: one for each girl she’s ever loved.
Relationships: Jennie Kim/Park Chaeyoung | Rosé, Lalisa Manoban | Lisa/Park Chaeyoung | Rosé, Park Chaeyoung | Rosé/Original Female Character(s), Park Chaeyoung | Rosé/Park Sooyoung | Joy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a damn near impossible task, trying to fit everything into neat boxes, categorizing moments of her life into something tangible, into something she can hold.

**Prologue**

  


— 

  


“Hey Rosie,” she hears from inside her walk-in. “Come look at this.”

  


Rosé walks to the closet, following the voice, her hair piled atop her head in a bun. She’s due to move to New York in eight days, so she’s spent the past week packing up her life in Seoul. It’s a damn near impossible task, trying to fit everything into neat boxes, categorizing moments of her life into something tangible, into something she can hold. Her apartment is mostly empty now, save for the occasional smattering of stuff here and there: loose paper, some knick-knacks, bits of crumpled plastic. Inside the closet, she sees her sister holding a small cardboard box and a familiar-looking piece of paper. 

  


Rosé’s eyes grow wide, but Alice just smiles, her arms outstretched, ready to envelope the younger Park in a hug. “Come here, you,” she says.

  


She approaches Alice and hugs her back, melting into the embrace. She never expected to come out to a family member this way, if at all—she’d always imagined it would be a moment more nightmarish than freeing, a moment she’d want to escape from instead of live in. But Alice’s hug is warm and familiar and comforting, and she knows she has nothing to be afraid of. 

  


Rosé had forgotten about the letters, surprised that they’ve even been found after all these years. After enough time had passed following each letter, the words are transformed into songs, into something Rosé can sing and feel and breathe. Once they become songs, the letters lay forgotten, doomed to gather dust behind old, outgrown sweaters. 

  


She tightens her grip around her sister, unable to hold back the tears. 

  


“I’d forgotten I’d written these,” Rosé says, letting go and taking one of the letters. “Where did you find them?” 

  


“It’s on that top shelf, behind those old sweaters,” Alice says, wiping a tear off Rosé’s cheeks. “You should send them.” 

  


“No way,” Rosé says. “That’d be crazy.”

  


“I think it would be brave,” Alice tells her. “I especially like this one,” she says, handing Rosé the box and picking out a crumpled piece of paper. She smirks at her before taking the sweaters and cradling them in her arms. She walks away.

  


Rosé breathes a sigh of relief and sits on the stool next to her. She eyes the box, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that just happened,” she mutters under her breath, before taking the crumpled piece of paper and smoothening it out. Her eyes glaze over the words and her penmanship, the ink having faded over time. 

  


She smiles.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from _happy together_ by the turtles
> 
> here we go, y’all! i would like thank my beloved [@pancakewaffletime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancakewaffletime) for the beta.
> 
> this story should be about nine to ten chapters long, updating every few days or so. thank you so much for stopping by <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s that?” Jennie asked.
> 
> “An old memory.”

Vanessa is warmth, sunshine, and saltwater. 

She reminds Rosé of everything she loves about [her hometown](https://youtu.be/Ci2qEE3Zo6s?t=234)—safety, familiarity, comfort. Vanessa’s green eyes remind her of the coast, where, on its shores during spring evenings, they would lie down for hours at a time, just staring at the stars, trying to find constellations. This particular evening will be Rosé’s last for a long time, because she flies to Korea the following day. She had been accepted as a trainee at YG, her anxiety having been the bane of her existence ever since she found out. 

“What if I’m not good enough,” she told Vanessa at school, just before spring break began. “I don’t even know how to dance!” 

“You need a distraction,” Vanessa said. She suggested one last excursion at the beach just before Rosé jets off into a new country, into a new life. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Rosé said. 

Under the stars, they listen to the waves gently crashing against one another. Rosé checks her watch. Her mom should be arriving soon to pick them up, and she feels her stomach turn, not wanting the night to end.

“Last one to find Cassiopeia owes the other person a milkshake,” Vanessa tells her.

“How can you even remember what it looks like?” Rosé asks.

“When we were discussing constellations I thought this one was really pretty, so I kept drawing it on my book,” Vanessa explains. 

Rosé bites back a smile, completely endeared by the girl sitting next to her on the sand. Her eyes linger over Vanessa’s features a second too long, prompting Vanessa to look at her. 

“Is there something on my face?”

“No,” Rosé smiles. She finishes the sentence in her head: _I just think you’re really pretty, too_ , but she feels weird about it, so she says nothing instead. 

Vanessa shrugs, laughing as she points to the sky. Her laughter is like music to Rosé’s ears, but it’s nothing compared to the sweet lilt of her voice when she calls her by her nickname. “Look, Rosie,” Vanessa says. “I think that’s it!”

Rosé looks up, her eyes following Vanessa’s voice as she points out which star connects to which, until it becomes clear in her head. She spots her, Cassiopeia, and it feels as though she’s smiling on them—guarding them and keeping them safe, keeping them together and blessing their friendship. 

Rosé looks back at Vanessa, a wave of confusion washing over her. Her eyes dart to Vanessa’s mouth, the girl’s lips pink and moist, her smile ear-to-ear. _Why do I want to kiss her so badly?_

She feels her body freeze, and all of a sudden she stands and walks away, leaving Vanessa to chase after her.

“Rosie? Where are you going?”

She can’t hear anything save for her heart pounding in her ribcage, the sound ringing in her ears. Her legs make their way to the seaside diner she and her friends frequent, and she slides into a booth, trying to breathe in and out.

When Vanessa finally catches up to her, a look of concern sullies her soft features. “Are you okay, Rosie? What happened?”

“Sorry,” Rosé says. “I believe I owe you a milkshake.”

Vanessa grins, Rosé’s actions forgotten in an instant. “I believe you do.”

—

In her room that night, Rosé sits at the foot of her bed, eyeing her guitar, already safely stowed in its case. She looks around her room, her clothes and belongings stuffed in suitcases by the door. Tomorrow, she must wake up before 8 a.m. to get to the airport in time. She lets out a shaky breath and feels her fingers tense. In an attempt to calm herself down, she begins humming a tune, making it up as she goes, and she makes her way to her dresser, rummaging through what’s left of her things for a blank piece of paper and a pen. In pink ink, she writes, letting the words take her. 

_ Dear Vanessa, _

_ I’m sorry I panicked today. I hope it didn’t ruin your day. I hope you didn’t notice. I just felt different. I looked at you, and then I couldn’t look away, and I couldn’t figure it why. All I know is that you are my best friend and I can’t imagine being grown-up without you. You make me laugh so hard my stomach hurts. You like the same things I like, like Paramore and One Direction and Junior Masterchef. You’re smart. Your voice is beautiful. You’re so pretty, just like Cassiopeia— _

Rosé catches herself. She strikes out that sentence before she even finishes it, feeling her heart begin to race.

_ You’re the first friend I ever made in Canterbury and I’m really glad we met. Thank you for putting up with me and my silly jokes. Thank you for being my partner-in-crime. Thank you for suggesting we go to the beach today. It’s my favorite place in the whole wide world and you’re one of my favorite people in the whole wide world, so it was perfect. I’m going to miss you a lot, but I will never forget you. I hope you’ll remember me even when we’re old and you’ve moved back to London. I’ll come and visit and you’ll show me all around the city, but only if you promise that you’ll visit Korea, too. _

Rosé stops, thinking of what to write next. 

_ Promise me that we’ll never lose touch because if we do I’m not sure if I can bear it. I hope you liked the letter I gave you. As for this one? I’m keeping it for myself.  _

_ Love,  _

_ Rosie _

She folds the letter halfway and then halfway again, inserting it inside an envelope, and writing Vanessa’s name in cursive on it. She slips the letter in between random pages of her journal, and tucks her journal deep into her backpack. She buries herself under the covers, feeling the weight of the duvet press down on her. Tomorrow, she flies to Korea to pursue her dreams. This is what I’ve always wanted, she reminds herself. She just didn’t expect it would come at the cost of leaving home, and at such a young age, too. 

She pulls the duvet closer to her chest and closes her eyes, listening to nothing but silence and the slow, steady pulse of her heart. She breathes in time with it, and soon enough, she’s falling asleep. 

That night, she dreams of supernovas and science class. Vanessa doesn’t show up, and in Rosé’s dreams in the years since, she never does.

—

Rosé folds the letter neatly, slipping it back into the envelope. She thinks back to that summer evening on the beach, her shoulders brushing against Vanessa’s, the stars twinkling above their heads. Since leaving for Korea, she and Vanessa hadn’t been able to talk as much as they would like: After classes and evaluations, Rosé collapsed into bed, rarely ever having enough energy to do much else. When she finally debuted, she tried calling Vanessa, but her number had changed. She remembers coming home to the dorm after the group’s debut, charging straight to her closet and flipping through her journal to find the letter she’d written for Vanessa. Angry and frustrated, she crumpled the letter as she sobbed, just barely stopping herself from tearing it up. 

Rosé remembers Jennie coming in, asking her why she was crying. “I just miss home, is all,” she told her _unnie_ in between sobs. 

“I miss home, too,” Jennie said. “What’s that?”

“An old memory,” Rosé replied. She let out a sigh of relief and folded the letter, stuffing it into the envelope and slipping it back into the pages of her journal. She wiped her tears away and looked at Jennie. “What’s for dinner?” 

Jennie smiled, bright and unforgettable, and laughed. Even years after parting ways with her members, Jennie’s smile—or at least the memory of it—is something Rosé will never tire of. 

She picks up another letter from the box, her heart leaping in her chest when she sees Jennie’s name in her handwriting, scribbled in soft, black ink.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jennie is the girl she can’t even look at.

When Rosé arrives at the dorms on her first day, it’s Jisoo who she becomes friends with first. Jisoo is warm and welcoming, and in an instant, Rosé feels accepted. She feels like she could belong—never mind that she doesn’t know a thing about dancing, never mind that all she has with her is a dream, her strong voice, and calloused fingers from years of playing the guitar. 

She and Lisa are known to bicker and fight, but after Lisa misspeaks—saying black bean noodles instead of how annoying Rosé was being—they’d been inseparable since. They talk for hours and hours, laughing through all of it, never getting tired. They talk about everything, from their deepest fears to their most unattainable dreams. 

Jennie is the girl she can’t even look at.

“She’s so intimidating,” Rosé told Lisa once. “But she’s also so like, chill and cool.”

Jennie is the Cool Girl, the popular girl at school whose mood very much depended on the day, who speaks sweetly and kindly, but is still known to unleash a fierce eyeroll every now and then. She has always been so self-assured, knowing exactly what she wants, when she wants it, and how. When she wants something, she goes for it it wholeheartedly, never afraid of what other people think. 

This terrified Rosé at first. Rosé has always had big dreams—she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t—but it frightens her to chase after them. It still does, in fact, but as she reads through the letter in her hand, she looks around her almost-empty apartment and she can’t help but beam with pride. Here she is, packing up her old life for a new one elsewhere—and across the world no less. She smiles to herself, thinking back to Jennie, silently thanking her for giving her the courage to find her voice. 

After all, Rosé used to be so scared to even approach Jennie, not wanting to waste her time with girlish preoccupations or nonsensical small talk. It also didn’t help that whenever Jennie was around, Rosé felt her heart begin to beat faster, her palms start to tremble. 

So, naturally—because she’s always felt like the universe enjoys playing tricks on her—she and Jennie become paired together for her first-ever presentation at the company. 

“Rosé on guitar, Jennie on vocals,” their teacher had said. In an instant, Rosé felt a rush of blood to her brain. She looked at Jennie, who smiled and nodded at her, shaking her hands in excitement.

Rosé felt like fainting. 

—

“What song do you want to do?” Jennie asks as they broke out into groups.

Rosé’s eyes grow wide—thank God her back is turned—and she takes a deep breath to try and calm down. Facing Jennie, she says, “We can do any song you want. I can learn it on the guitar.” 

“Do you know anything by Taylor Swift?” Jennie asks, suddenly shy.

Rosé smiles. “I wouldn’t have to pegged you to be a Swiftie,” she tells Jennie, suddenly feeling like she let go of the breath she’d been keeping in since she first arrived.

“I really like Love Story,” Jennie tells her. “She’s my guilty pleasure. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Rosé says.

“I think Taylor’s a really good songwriter,” Jennie says, shyly. 

“I agree,” Rosé says, walking to her guitar and sitting down on the floor. She adjusts her capo as Jennie sits next to her.

Rosé begins plucking, the song’s opening notes soft and gentle under her hands. “ _We were both young when I first saw you_ ,” she starts, a smooth and mellow rendition of the pop song coming out of her mouth. “ _I close my eyes and the flashbacks start, I’m standing there…_ ”

“ _On a balcony in summer air_ ,” Jennie joins her.

“ _See the lights, see the party, the ballgowns, see you make your way through the crowd. You say, ‘Hello’—little did I know_ …”

The two continue to sing, Rosé harmonizing with Jennie, Jennie slowly swaying. As Rosé lets her hands do their work, she allows herself this moment: her eyes fixated on Jennie’s face, impassioned and fervent as the song progressed. When the song reaches its bridge, Rosé feels her heart stop. Their voices mingle in the air, mixing gracefully, and Rosé feels like nothing she’s ever felt. All she wants now is for the world around her to melt away, leaving just her and Jennie and their voices and nothing else. This is all she needs, she thinks: just a beautiful girl and her beautiful voice. 

When the song ends, Jennie squeals and immediately hugs Rosé, the two girls falling over onto the floor. 

“That was amazing, Rosie,” Jennie tells her. “I’ll see you later to practice again!” 

Jennie lifts herself up and walks away, but not before blowing Rosé a quick kiss. 

Feeling her cheeks become warm, Rosé smiles to herself. _I think I like girls_ , she thinks, but she doesn’t form the words fully. Instead, it’s a vague wisp of feeling in her mind, another memory to tuck away into the depths of her heart. 

—

For a long time, that feeling lived quietly inside of her, in her heart, in her mind, in her soul, where only she can return to. I think I like girls, she would sometimes repeat to herself beforeslipping into blessed slumber. But like the first time she thought it, she never forms it fully, never moves her mouth to form the words. I think I like girls becomes an invisible mantra in her head—a feeling that she keeps hidden until it feels familiar, until it feels real.

One night, sometime after their debut, she finds herself unable to sleep. They’re filming Blackpink House, and Jennie and Lisa have switched rooms for the night. It’s half-past twelve in the morning, Lisa is softly snoring on the bed next to hers, and all she’s done since her head hit the pillow was toss and turn, toss and turn.

She gets up and walks to her cabinet, rummaging through the drawer where she keeps pens and stationery, pulling a random one out. It’s winter-themed, the tiny little snowflakes leaving glitter on her skin. She sits at her desk, the soft orange of the lamp next to her the only source of light. She starts writing, she lets the words engulf her, pass through her, arrive on the page.

“Jennie _unnie_ ,” she begins. 

_ I want to tell you a secret. I think I like girls. No, scratch that. I know I like girls. And I like you. The last time I felt this way was back when I was fifteen, just about ready to leave for Korea. Her name was Vanessa, and I really wanted to kiss her then. I didn’t understand why though. I just knew I loved looking at her and I felt really warm whenever she smiled. _

_ I feel the same way about you. You have such a commanding presence that it’s hard not to be drawn to you. You have such a keen eye for detail, and I see it most when we’re recording, when we’re rehearsing, when we get paired up to perform. I love performing with you, but I love it even more when I get to see you do your own thing. I love playing the guitar for you, and when your eyes look in mine I feel like a spark goes out in my brain. It just short-circuits. _

_ Now that I’m a little older I’m slowly understanding the way I feel. I couldn’t say it for so long, not even to myself. But here, I feel like I can. I like girls, Jennie unnie. And I like you. This feels different, though. It feels like something else. Instead of ache and longing, it’s contentment. I know that what we have is enough. I’m perfectly happy just being in your life, being with you here, as your friend. I’m happy just hearing your laughter, your voice, spending time with you. I’m happy for you and Kai. _

_ I love that he makes you laugh so hard you can’t breathe. I love that when you hear his name, you get a little flustered. I love how excited you get when the two of you talk. I know how that feels—it’s bliss and ache and joy and heartbreak, all at once—because I feel it with you. _

_ Thank you, Jennie unnie. Thank you for inspiring me to be brave. _

_ Yours, _

_ Rosie _

Satisfied, she sits back, looking at the confident strokes, noting the lack of panic in this letter. This time around, she’s made peace with the thought she’s been turning in her head for years, the thought she couldn’t even say to herself—until tonight. _I like girls_ , she whispers, her voice transforming the words into a soft prayer to the universe. Or to God, if he truly was listening. _I like girls_ , she says again. She smiles, finally, and she feels her shoulders fall and her back relax. _I like girls_ , she declares, again and again and again, because she can’t believe she can finally say it. _I like girls_.

“What did you say?”

She hears Lisa’s voice behind her, soft and sleepy, and Rosé finds herself scrambling to fold the letter, hastily stuffing it inside the accompanying envelope.

“Nothing,” Rosé says.

“Come back to sleep, Chaeng,” Lisa says, yawning. “I’ll sing you a song, if you want.”

“What was that? Lalisa Manoban is going to sing for me?”

Lisa rolls her eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “If it’ll make you sleep, yes,” Lisa says, patting the empty space next to her.

Rosé smiles, turning off the lamp and approaching Lisa, tucking herself under the covers. 

“What song will you sing to me?”

“Sshh, just listen,” Lisa tells her.

“Okay,” Rosé says, closing her eyes. After a moment, she hears Lisa’s voice, shy and soft and sweet: “ _You and I together it just feels so right_ …” 

Rosé feels a lump in her throat. She feels her heart begin to race, again, and as she drifts off to sleep she thinks of the next letter she’s bound to write. She can see it clearly, see who it’s for, but she doesn’t allow herself to dwell on it. Instead, she lets herself sink deeper into the bed, feeling Lisa’s warm body and inhaling her scent. 

She hums along with Lisa, until she can’t anymore, until sleep overtakes her. When she dreams that night, she dreams not of Jennie—and certainly not of Vanessa—but of the girl singing to her. _I deserve this_ , Rosé thinks to herself at breakfast the next day. _I deserve this_ , she says, especially after years of nightmares and bad dreams. _I deserve something this soft_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not being an idol. There are rules to break and rules to follow; there’s an image to maintain and feelings you can never voice out.

It’s not easy being an idol. 

It’s an unenviable position, despite its perks. Sure, you're famous, you get to travel all around the world, you feel like you’re living your dream every day, but at the end of the night there’s nothing, really, but loneliness. 

And Rosé—well, Rosé has long befriended her loneliness, but that doesn’t mean it’s gotten easier. 

She’s not afraid of it anymore. She was at first, of course. It’s a terrifying feeling, loneliness. She doesn’t understand why she feels it even when she’s surrounded by some of her most favorite people in the world. She doesn’t understand why it’s even more pronounced the first few hours following a particularly good show. She comes home to an empty hotel room, in a city she barely knows, and it all feels bleak. 

She’s always felt guilty about voicing out her exhaustion, not wanting her members to think she’s ungrateful to be here, to have been chosen. At the end of a show, she watches Lisa, Jisoo, and Jennie come even more alive. They’re tired, yes, but they’re energized too, fueled by the crowd’s screams and uproarious applause. Rosé loves the shows; she loves the fans. She loves her life as it is, but sometimes she wishes for something smaller. She longs for something smaller. Something she can hold, something she doesn’t have to be perfect for. She aches for home, but the home she yearns for is no longer the same. She’s no longer Roseanne Park, she has to keep reminding herself; she’s Rosé. Her mom, her dad, her sister—they will always be there for her and she will always be there for her, but it’s hard to be the daughter of parents you barely see, and even harder not to change just for their sakes. With each passing year, the miles between them become more and more unbearable, and Rosé feels like she can’t breathe.

So yeah: It’s not being an idol. There are rules to break and rules to follow, there’s an image to maintain and feelings you can never voice out. Rosé has long pushed back wanting more, needing more—or perhaps less is the better word for it—and replaced it with feeling enough. She was content. She had to be.

Until she met Joy.

—

The first time she meets Joy is backstage at an awards show. She and her members are gearing up to go onstage; Red Velvet had just finished performing. They pass each other through the cramped hallways, bowing and trying not to look each other in the eye. But Joy captures hers, and she smiles softly. Rosé feels the look linger, and her breath catches in her throat. 

They meet again at another show, this time sharing a table. Rosé sits straight, careful not to look at the girls from the other group, but even more careful not to look at Joy, who’s sitting directly across her. Something funny happens on stage, and amid the cacophony of laughter in the sprawling auditorium, she manages to pick out Joy’s laugh. It’s bright, airy, and warm, and it takes all of her not to glance at the source. She sits on her hands instead.

When they finally share a stage together, she finds herself in front of Joy, who looks at her so earnestly that she feels like her knees might buckle. They reach out for each other, their fingers interlacing, and Rosé feels her cheeks flush, becoming red. When she feels Joy’s hand on her waist, her heart stops.

—

Joy is the girl she never saw coming. She’s a breath of fresh air, a welcome change from the day-to-day minutiae of Rosé’s life. Joy is new possibilities. She’s bright, and forward, and spirited, and quick. Around Joy, Rosé feels like she can let go. 

So she does—almost.

—

The girls just finished a particularly taxing session at the studio when she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. After a long day, all Rosé really wants is time alone, her only company a large bowl of pho. As she dreams of which Vietnamese place to head to tonight, she fishes out her phone from her pocket, smiling when she sees Joy’s name as the sender. 

_Hi, C_ , it reads. _Want to grab a bite to eat?_

_Yes_ , she replies back. _You caught me at the perfect time, unnie! Just finished recording. We get the rest of the night off._

The grey bubble appears, the dots bouncing up and down before her eyes. _Perfect_ , Joy says. _Where do you wanna meet?_

_ Could go for a really really big bowl of pho.  _

_It’s a date_ , Joy says. 

Rosé presses the phone to her chest, smiling. 

—

Rosé and Joy find themselves in a dimly-lit Vietnamese restaurant. They spot a booth in the back, sliding in across from each other, taking off their masks. As Rosé tells the server her order, she feels Joy’s eyes on her. When the server leaves, she looks at the girl in front of her. 

“What,” she says, smiling.

“You’re so cute when you order,” Joy says.

“Shut up,” is all Rosé can muster, her cheeks flushed and her hands trembling slightly. She wonders if people can recognize them; she wonders what they think if they can. 

A few tables away, just out of sight, their bodyguards order their own meals for the night. Before entering the restaurant, the girls made a deal with their bodyguards, a game of rock-paper-scissors deciding their fate. If they win, the bodyguards stay in their respective cars; if they lose, they keep an eye on them from inside. Alas, Rosé clenched her fist as her bodyguard unfurled his wide open.

Across from her, Joy asks her how her day went. Rosé says she’s excited about her solo. “I’ve been recording parts of it whenever I can,” she tells Joy. “But the girls haven’t heard it. Right now it’s just me and my producer who know.”

“I’d love to hear it one day,” Joy says, smiling. “I’m sure it’s going to be beautiful.” She takes Rosé’s hands, gently caressing the base of her thumb.

Rosé’s natural instinct is to pull away, but Joy is so magnetic and alluring that she finds herself staying put. She smiles back at Joy. “I wish we could sing together,” she tells her. “That would be my dream.”

“That’s my dream too,” Joy says. “I think our voices will sound really good together.”

“It’s wishful thinking though, right? They’ll never let us,” Rosé says, her face falling slightly.

“Hey,” Joy says, standing up to sit next to Rosé. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired, that’s all,” Rosé says. “But I always feel like I can’t show it. I don’t want my members to think I’m not grateful about this opportunity.”  Years after her debut, Rosé still lives in fear that one day she will wake up and all of it will be gone. _Which is true_ , she tells herself often, but it’s gotten to the point where she feels like it’s getting harder and harder to breathe each day.

“I get you,” Joy says. “I feel that way too. I’m scared one day I will wake up and all of this… It’ll just be gone.” 

Rosé looks at Joy, surprised to hear the exact same thought said in almost the exact same way. “That’s exactly how I feel,” Rosé says, twisting her hand to fit more snugly into Joy’s. She smiles again, and this time she dares to look into Joy’s eyes, but her gaze is so intense that Rosé has to look away.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Rosé whispers.

“What was that?” Joy asks, leaning in closer to Rosé. 

“Nothing,” Rosé says.

“You can tell me,” Joy says. “When you’re ready. You know that you can always tell me anything, right?”

Rosé nods, trying her damnedest not to look at Joy’s lips.

_Too late_.

Joy’s lips are red and moist, and inches away from her face. She tries not to lean in, she knows she shouldn’t do this, especially not in public, but Joy is leaning in too and—

“Here we are,” their server returns, placing the bowls of soup on their table.

They break apart, Rosé almost hitting the server’s arm, the soup almost spilling, Joy laughing into her hands. “I’m so sorry,” she says.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” the server says. “Enjoy!” 

The girls keep in their laughter until their server is out of sight, and then they let it all out. “Oh my god,” Rosé says, laughing. 

Joy stands up and moves back to her original seat across from Rosé, a huge grin illuminating her features. “Sorry about that,” she says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Rosé says. She smiles to herself, a giddy feeling in her chest. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Let’s eat?”

“Yes,” Rosé says. “I’m starving.” 

—

Over dinner, they talk about their childhood, their families, the funniest things that happened when they were trainees, their dreams, their desires. They cry a couple of times, Vanessa comes up in conversation briefly, and Rosé feels Joy’s eyes on her again, a grin beginning to form. 

“You’re making that face again,” Rosé says, covering her mouth. She feels her cheeks get red, again, and she looks down at her empty bowl, a soft smile on her face.

“I love hearing you talk,” Joy says. “I love how excited you get.”

Rosé brings her hands to her cheeks, closing her eyes and crinkling her nose. Joy laughs, and Rosé feels herself fall in love. She loves making girls laugh, she soon realizes. She loves seeing them throw their heads back, loves seeing the soft white of their necks. She loves the sound, most of all. She could live on it, plainly and simply, she thinks, if she had to. 

—

After, they take a short walk around the neighborhood, their bodyguards not far behind. They talk, they laugh, Joy grabs Rosé’s hand, intertwining their fingers together. They sing senseless songs; they laugh some more. As the streets and establishment become more and more familiar to Joy, she looks at Rosé, a knowing smile on her face.

“What?”

“You wanna hide for a little bit?”

“What do you mean?” Rosé asks, her eyebrows furrowing. She begins to feel her heart pounding in her chest. 

“Just for a little while, don’t you want to feel normal?”

Rosé stops in her tracks. “Yes,” she says, looking Joy dead in the eyes. They resume walking. 

“Okay. On the count of three, run.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. One,” Joy starts, holding Rosé’s left hand closer to her chest. 

“Two,” Rosé says, taking a deep inhale.

“Three!” They bolt, surprising their bodyguards.

They run towards the shopping center, crowded and full of both tourists and locals, people selling their wares and families buying souvenirs for their loved ones back home. They pass by stores of all kinds, from make-up to electronics to clothes to novelty items. They ably avoid running into people—Rosé surprising even herself that she can dodge this well—the two girls never letting go of each other’s hands even once. Joy leads them to a back alley, where they slip unnoticed. Rosé and Joy see their bodyguards run ahead, letting out a sigh of relief as they do. Out of breath, they clutch their chests, trying to inhale all of the oxygen that they can. They laugh, finding themselves next to a vending machine, its fluorescent light harsh against the fabric of their clothes.

“I want that one,” Rosé says, pointing at a bottle of iced coffee through the glass. As Joy puts a coin in the slot, Rosé turns to look at her, panting.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Rosé says.

“Do you regret it?”

“No, not at all,” Rosé tells her. “I’d be happy getting even just a second of this.” 

“Me too,” Joy says. The machine dispenses the coffee, which Joy takes, and hands it to Rosé.

Rosé doesn’t take it. She looks at Joy instead, smirking. 

“What?” Joy asks.

“I want to kiss you,” Rosé says, still smiling. She fixes her gaze on Joy’s lips, and as flecks of snow start falling around them both, she sees Joy move towards her. Her eyes flutter shut, and all she feels is Joy’s mouth—soft, warm, inviting, new. Rosé brain stops; she feels nothing and everything. She tastes Joy and all her unfamiliarity, feels her soft black hair spilling in her hands, breathes in her scent, fresh and floral and sweet. The kiss doesn’t last long; when they pull apart, she’s already aching, already yearning for more. She opens her eyes, and Rosé wants so badly to lean back in, but she stops herself, smiling at the ground instead. 

“Are you okay?” Joy asks.

“Yes,” Rosé says. “Are you?”

“I’ve never been better,” Joy says, taking Rosé’s hand and kissing it. Rosé feels warm, the warmest she’s ever felt, despite the snow falling all around them. 

They walk back out, seeing their bodyguards make the turn just then, the looks on their faces stern and strict. As they return to their respective cars, their arms brush against each other’s, their fingers graze every now and then. Rosé looks at Joy, who’s looking straight ahead, but is smiling anyway. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stares at the ceiling, thinking back to the events from a few hours ago—how beautiful they’d been, and how beautiful they no longer are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two short updates today! bear with me, y’all—we’re getting to the good parts!

When she arrives back at the dorms, her heart feels the lightest it’s ever been. She hums a happy tune, closing the door. As it shuts, she hears a stern voice from behind her. “Park Chaeyoung,” the voice says. “My office. Now.”

Before she could even respond, their residence supervisor has already turned her back, walking away. Rosé follows suit, her hands clasped behind her. The walk from the entrance to the office feels like the longest forty-five seconds she’s ever had to endure as she made her way through the hallways of their building, their supervisor’s heels echoing through the silence. 

In her office, the lights are harsh and the room is impossibly cold. Their manager is inside, one hip on the table, arms crossed. Rosé sits on the chair across from him, listening intently to his reprimanding and scolding. 

She nods when needed, looks down at her hands when she’s not speaking, and maintains an emotionless face. She tries not to cry, because she knows she fucked up, but she knows that if she were given the opportunity to do it again—to run and feel the wind in her air and kiss a girl she liked—she’d do it over and over and over and over.

“You can’t do something that stupid, Chaeyoung. You can’t run away from your bodyguards. You risk tainting YG’s reputation, as well as your fellow members’. You risk angering Mr. Yang, which means you risk delaying your solo.” 

Rosé’s eyes go wide. Suddenly, she feels the world come crashing down around her. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Rosé says.

“That’ll be all.”

“Thank you, sir,” she says, standing up to leave. “I assure you this won’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” he tells Rosé as she reaches the door. “And by the way? Your little thing with Joy? End it, now.” 

Rosé freezes, the doorknob numb in her cold hands. 

“I will, sir.” 

—

Back in her room, Rosé collapses onto her bed. She stares at the ceiling, thinking back to the events from a few hours ago—how beautiful they’d been, and how beautiful they no longer are. 

She wishes she could feel giddy again. She wishes her grin could grow bigger and bigger. She wishes she could grab a pillow and melt into it, squealing into the soft cotton instead of screaming. She thinks of the kiss, of the way Joy’s lips felt on hers. She thinks of Joy’s perfume, her hair soft in Rosé’s hands. She thinks of the small noise Joy made, an almost-whimper. Rosé feels drunk at the memory, the throbbing pressure between her legs slowly becoming impossible to ignore.

She ignores it anyway. 

She sits up, eyeing her desk. She stares at the small pink box by her books, and stands up to approach it. Grabbing a blank piece of plain paper and a pen, she starts writing. 

_ Dear Sooyoung, _

_ I now know what it’s like to live again. I now know what’s it like to be fearless. It’s still being scared, terrified, afraid. But it’s doing what you want to do anyway. It’s doing what you need to do, she writes, underlining the word ‘need,’ despite the consequences. _

_ I never thought I would meet someone like you—someone who understands what I’m going through so deeply and unequivocally, someone who renders words useless. With you, one look is enough. Your eyes are enough. Your smile, your laughter, your lips—your lips most of all. _

_ I never thought I could feel this way. I never thought I could feel so free. But you showed me what that’s like and now I’m not sure that I could go back to a world without it. The sad thing is, I have to. But believe me, Sooyoung, when I say that I don’t want to. _

_ I want more days with your lips on mine, my skin on yours, your hair in my hands. I want more days with just your laughter in my ears, your voice in my head, your smile burned into my memory. I wish this life was kinder to us both. I’ve long accepted the fact that I need to be content. Thank you for showing me a different world, but for now I have to stay in mine.  _

_ Always, _

_ Chaeyoung _

A teardrop falls onto the word ‘always,’ and Rosé watches the ink feather and bleed. She folds the letter before it even gets a chance to dry, and stuffs into an envelope. She writes Joy’s initial—S.—and places it inside the box. 

Returning to her bed, she takes her phone and starts composing a new message.

_ I’m sorry. _

_ C.  _


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Rosé wakes up with a temper.

The next day, Rosé wakes up with a temper. She tries not to show it, of course, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to do so as the day goes by. She and the girls are about to embark on the international dates of their world tour—their flight to Thailand leaves in two days and their bodies are sore from unending rehearsals. She’s exhausted, she’s stressed, she’s heartbroken, and Lisa won’t leave her alone. 

“Why are you sad?” Lisa asks her, again. Lisa has been following her all over the building since breakfast this morning, and Rosé has just about had enough of it. 

“I said I don’t want to talk about it, Lalisa!” Rosé shouts, calling the attention of a few crew members, who try their hardest not to look at the two girls. Over the years, the people around them have gotten used to their quarreling—little fights that get resolved within a few hours—but even they know that this one is a touch too harsh. 

As Rosé watches the shock register on Lisa’s face, she immediately begins to regret her words, but Lisa has already turned around and walked away, saying nothing.

Later that afternoon, Rosé finds herself idle—Jisoo and Jennie are rehearsing their respective concert solos—so she holes herself up in her room, playing sad and angry songs on her guitar. She hears a soft knocking on her door, followed by a familiar voice. 

“It’s me, Chaeng-ah,” says Lisa. She opens the door, holding a plate of sandwiches and some chips. Rosé spares her one look before she ignores her, going back to strumming. 

Lisa places the plate on the table next to Rosé’s bed and walks out without saying a word. Rosé glances at the plate, smiling, feeling remorse for the way she snapped at her. That night, she seeks Lisa out, finding her outside by the swings. In the distance, thunder rumbles. The air is cold, so Rosé stuffs her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she approaches Lisa.

She sits on the swing next to her, the metal chain cold in her hands. 

“I had my first kiss,” she says simply. 

“No way!” Lisa says, facing Rosé, a look of shock and delight—and something a bit more indiscernible, Rosé thinks—on her face. “With who?” 

“Sooyoung.”

“What!” 

“Last night.”

“After the studio?”

“Yes,” Rosé says. “We had dinner and went out for a walk and we outran our bodyguards.”

“Holy shit, Chaeng,” is all Lisa says.

“Yeah,” Rosé says, looking at her shoes. “I got into trouble for it.”

“For running away?”

“And for kissing her.”

“How do they know?”

“I don’t know, but they do.”

“There’s no way—”

“They threatened to delay my solo if I didn’t end it.” 

“Oh fuck,” Lisa says. She stands up to approach Rosé, crouching down in front of her and resting her head on the girl’s lap. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Rosé says, tears rolling down her cheeks. “At this point I’m more scared I’m going to get fired than anything else.”

“They’re not gonna fire you,” Lisa tells her, facing to look her in the eyes. “You’re irreplaceable.”

Rosé stares right back, as though she’s searching for something. Whenever she looks into Lisa’s eyes, she feels anew. She feels reborn. She feels enough. She catches Lisa’s eyes dart to her lips, so she looks away.

“Let’s go inside,” Rosé says. “It’s starting to rain.” 

Lisa’s expression shifts ever so slightly, Rosé almost misses it. But she knows Lisa like the back of hand, and she’s become so accustomed to her energy over the years that she notices even the most subtle change in demeanor. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Lisa says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She allows her body to melt into Lisa’s, to feel her physicality and the warmth radiating from her. She breathes in time with Lisa’s breaths: _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four_.

Rosé can’t sleep.

In the dark of her hotel room, her hands blindly search for her phone, the sudden brightness of the screen an assault to her senses when she finds it. Outside her window, the lights of Berlin twinkle softly like stars, the pitch black sky and the dimly-lit streets meeting at the horizon. She wastes time on the internet, finding herself spiraling through her Explore tab on Instagram, kittens and puppies abound. She feels sleep begin to creep up on her when she hears a soft knocking on her door. 

She gets up from bed and peeks through the peephole, seeing Lisa on the other side of the door, fresh-faced and clutching her blanket. Rosé smiles as she opens the door.

“I can’t sleep,” Lisa tells her, who makes a beeline for her bed. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Always,” Rosé says.

“Your room has a better view than mine,” Lisa says, looking through the large windows. “You can see the entire city from here.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Lisa looks at Rosé. “Yeah.”

Rosé feels shy all of a sudden, not knowing what to do with herself. She walks to her guitar stand and takes the instrument, sitting on the chair by the window. She strums softly, a series of dulcet notes emanating from her guitar, as she looks out into the city. “I’m so excited to see Paris,” she tells Lisa. 

“Me too,” Lisa says. 

“ _Hold me close and hold me fast, this magic spell you cast, this is la vie en rose_ ,” Rosé starts. 

“ _When you kiss me heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes, I see la vie en rose_ …” Lisa continues. 

They sing softly, Lisa on the bed and Rosé by the window. Rosé alternates between looking at the city and looking at Lisa, her face illuminated by the soft lamp on the bedside table. When they finish singing, humming instead when they don’t know the words, Rosé feels a shift in the atmosphere, feels something new—but not entirely unfamiliar—mingle in the air around them.

They sing a few more songs, until Lisa yawns, letting her back hit the bed and snuggling deep under the covers. “Come join me, Rosie,” she says, trying to fight another yawn, but gives in anyway.

Rosé sets down her guitar and joins Lisa on the bed, snuggling in with her. Usually, she would think nothing of it—after all, she and Lisa have shared many beds over many years. She’s used to the curve of Lisa’s body, the warmth of it, the scent, but tonight, something feels different. Lisa’s on her left side, facing away from Rosé, and Rosé is mimicking her position. She doesn’t wrap her arms around Lisa, doesn’t close the distance between the two of them. She tucks her hands under her chin. They feel prickly , hot,  like they desire something. Like they need something. Like they’re meant to be elsewhere. 

She wonders if Lisa is thinking the same thing, wonders if Lisa is aching for the press of her body, just as she is aching for hers. She carefully places a hand on Lisa’s side, waiting for her to react. Lisa moves closer to her, the space between their bodies now nonexistent. She allows her body to melt into Lisa’s, to feel her physicality and the warmth radiating from her. She breathes in time with Lisa’s breaths: _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four_.

She wonders if Lisa is asleep, wonders if she’s awake and feeling her body burn under Rosé’s touch. Rosé dares to kiss Lisa’s bare shoulder, her pink lips soft and quick on Lisa’s pale skin.

“Mm,” Lisa says. “That feels nice.” 

Emboldened by this declaration, Rosé continues to pepper soft, wispy kisses all over Lisa’s arm. She feels Lisa stir, before she moves to face her. Rosé stops, looking into Lisa’s eyes, scared of what the girl has to say.

“Touch me,” Lisa says, her face earnest and resolute. “Please touch me,” she says again, her eyes fluttering shut. She touches Rosé’s forehead with hers, her breath soft on Rosé’s face. 

Rosé gulps, pursing her lips, letting her hand travel over Lisa’s back, the silk of her pajamas soft and smooth under Rosé’s hand. Lisa doesn’t say anything, only breathes, ragged and irregular. Rosé moves her hand under the fabric of Lisa’s top, eliciting a soft gasp from Lisa when her fingers make contact with the flesh of her back. 

“Rosie, please,” Lisa says, opening her eyes, her gaze landing on Rosé’s lips. Rosé looks at Lisa’s lips, an out-of-focus blur from being too near. She wants so badly to kiss her. 

“We shouldn’t,” Rosé says instead, extracting her hand from under Lisa’s shirt and falling onto her back.

Lisa sits up, a sullen look on her face. “I’m sorry I came here,” she says, standing up.

Rosé grabs her wrist. “No,” she says. “Don’t go.”

“I feel embarrassed,” Lisa says. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, Lisa,” Rosé pleads. “Please stay.”

And so she does. 

—

Rosé and Lisa wake up together, a tangled mess of limbs, the sunlight warm on their faces. 

“What time is it?” Lisa asks.

Rosé takes her phone, glancing at the clock. “It’s 7,” she says. “I want breakfast.”

Lisa smiles at her. “Of course you do,” she says.

“Are we okay?”

“Of course we are, Chaeyoung,” Lisa says, grabbing Rosé’s face and kissing her cheek. “Don’t worry.” 

Lisa gets up and pulls on her slippers, reaching for her blanket on the bed. “I’ll get dressed and see you in a bit?”

“Okay,” Rosé says, smiling. 

When Lisa closes the door behind her, Rosé feels her whole body melt into the bed, feels the tension she’d been carrying all night vanish. She thinks back to last night: Lisa’s body warm against hers, Lisa’s skin soft under her hands. She thinks of Lisa’s voice, barely above a whisper, saying the words _Touch me_. She thinks of the look on Lisa’s face when she drags her fingers up her spine, the look on Lisa’s face when she says they can’t do this. 

Rosé has always been proud of the fact that she’s honest—or at least moderately honest—with herself, but she knows there’s one feeling she’s spent years trying to resist, one blasted feeling she’s tried her damnedest to prevent.

_It’s Lisa_ , she thinks, finally admitting it to herself. _It’s always been Lisa_.

It’s Lisa’s smile and her hands and the way Lisa looks at her like she’s everything, like she’s all Lisa needs to survive. It’s Lisa’s hair and her eyes and the way she knows her body so impossibly well. It’s the way Lisa takes her hand and interlocks their fingers together, the way she grabs her face so confidently just to mark her with lipstick, the way Lisa asks her if she’s eaten, the way Lisa will whip her up something to eat if she hasn’t. 

But, Rosé thinks, Lisa’s like that to everyone. She kisses Jisoo on the cheeks and flirts with Jennie relentlessly. So maybe Rosé’s mistaken. Maybe she’s wrong. Maybe she isn’t so special after all. 

Somehow, this isn’t the conclusion she was hoping for.


End file.
